


Temperance and Strength

by imitationicarus



Series: Chapter 14: The Cure for Insomnia [2]
Category: FFXV - Fandom, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Ending, Chocobros - Freeform, End Game Spoilers, Happiness at the end, Metaphors, Sadness, lots of metaphors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-08
Updated: 2017-08-08
Packaged: 2018-12-12 21:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11745219
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imitationicarus/pseuds/imitationicarus
Summary: The truth was in the cards. There would be change, and there was. Noctis had survived what should have been his final moments on the throne, but for how long? And how long could his friends watch him suffer before they lose hope that he will recover? Sequel to The Hanged Man.





	Temperance and Strength

The throne is empty.

For as long as he could remember, the seat was always filled, the grandeur of his father’s presence always drawing the company of others, including Noctis. Often times he would be hidden in the shadows, watching the diplomats and the ambassadors bicker and complain and plea and laugh at the end of the staircase; but always would his father greet them from his throne.

He knows if he wanted to see his father, he could always slip into the throne room, to his special hidden spot, to watch him on his place of power.

But now when he looks, he is gone.

It’s a blur. No sounds reach his ears. There are colors, but what do they belong to? His mind doesn’t comprehend. He can only distinguish the chair, the throes of light that spill on its seat, and the feel of his heart ache with longing.

Nothing makes sense.

Flashes. A woman at the corner of his vision--she walks away, her pale hair shimmering in the light. It burns, it all burns. Can’t sit up to follow, can’t open his mouth to call. He could only think of Luna. Then the whole world tilts on its axis.

More blond, the light dancing like crystals over it--but this time, it is deep and golden, and again he tries to move, to no avail.

The world comes animated in chunks. The first to return is the noise. Crackling, crunching as boots stomp through ruined floors. That’s right. Insomnia was destroyed, he had fought Ardyn. And the light.

The light has returned.

Lines come back second, the swath of gold receiving feathered strokes and a hovering face beneath it.

Prompto.

“Is he doing okay?” Gladiolus.

His head has grown stationary. He couldn’t locate the sound, but he knows he is nearby. Prompto gives a big enthusiastic nod.

“His eyes are open. Come on buddy, speak to me.”

He wants to. He wants to so bad, to gain answers of this dream he is having. His throat throbs. He couldn’t though.

“Don’t push him, Prompto. He is still recovering.” Ignis.

They are all here. And hearing their voices again makes his chest constrict, and his eyes begin to shed all the burdens he has carried from Insomnia and back. It is a blessing to have them at his side.

Even if it is only for a moment.

“He’s... crying…”

Just a quickly as they come, the world begins receding from the tide of pain that washes over him and sinks to the bone. He tries desperately to hang on, to catch a glimpse of Ignis and Gladio, but he is sent adrift so easily into the black and lifeless sea.

He wonders briefly, that when he open his eyes this time, if he will see his father on the throne again.

* * *

Darkness. It is he and only darkness, another matrimony conceived of ill intentions; until his eyes focus, and he turns.

A girl waits in the distance. A voice. “Go the other way, turn around.” Regrets high enough to drown. He feels himself sinking. He extends his hand, his vision distorting from the heavy tears, but Luna would come no closer. The voice again. “Please, Noctis. We aren’t ready for you yet.”

He screams her name, but even he can’t hear his own voice. A soft smile. A flutter of her wings and she is gone, and Noctis is alone, sinking, sinking, sinking.

A flash. Black pulsates to white, and Noctis is kneeling on the floor. His head shoots up, every fiber of his memory painting the beautiful and comforting throne room of the Crown City before him.

And to Noctis’ relief, his father is perched in the place he always expected to find him.

“Dad…” He breathes, stretching to stand on both legs.

He wants to run and jump in his lap as if he is a little kid and tell him about all his sorrows. But when he goes to move, he finds he can’t. He looks to his father questioningly.

“It’s good to see you, my son.” King Regis says.

Noctis misses the sparkle of sadness in his eyes.

“But I’m afraid we can’t talk yet.”

“Why not?” Noctis blurted out. “I waited this long. I… I miss you dad.”

Noctis is not the only King to carry his burdens; and staring at his lost son brings Regis such pain that he almost concedes and welcomes his beloved son into his arms.

But as always, King Regis silently stands his ground, swallows the pain, and moves forward.

“This time will come when we can talk. But today is not that day.”

He lifts the staff in his hands.

“Wait, Dad, I have to tell you--”

And when he taps the ground, the marble beneath Noctis’ feet opens, and he is sucked back into the darkness below. He scrabbles for walls, tries to warp, but nothing could stop his crash into the unseen floor. Even though the darkness does not look any different, he knows he is unconscious.

_I have to tell you that I love you._

* * *

In the realm where light has returned physically, but figuratively remained fixated behind a cloud, the King’s party waits. It has been days since their hardest trials, and days since Noctis showed small signs of recovery.

Now he is still. Ignis hates it when he is still.

As things are, it is hard for Ignis to imagine Noctis as he is ten years later. Instead, a picture of a small boy in a wheelchair seems to be transposed on every thought of Noctis.

He couldn’t falter; couldn’t let the others see the pessimism festering inside.

Noctis is going to die. It is only a matter of time for them to fruitlessly cling to their King before he is taken off to better places. It is a painful thought, but a reality nonetheless, the advisor would repeat to himself.

But then once again, Noctis’ eyes open.

He knows it from the way Prompto falls out of his chair and the noise Gladio makes as he sits his weapon to aside. He knows it from the whispers and the quiet shift on the bed, so minute it could have been a child--but a child does not carry burdens as great as Noctis’.

“Noct? How are you feeling? Are you alright?”

If Noctis’ ears are anything else, they would be a blender. A sharp pang in his head has him up and doubled over, his father’s voice ringing. It hurts, but not as much as the way “I love you” remains scorched in his throat.

The buzzing around him is Prompto, he could tell that much. But his words are never louder than his father’s voice.

“Walk tall, my son…”

“Get a potion.” Gladio orders, pushing Noctis back into the sheets.

“Got it!” The blond scurries, riffling through their bags.

Yet Ignis didn’t move a muscle. He dares not to hear the hope.

Another stumble. Prompto crashes into the same chair he fell out of and nearly drops the potion, but he manages to land half-way on the bed. He cracks the potion, gently like an egg, so the essence could fall over his king in a shine of hopeful glimmer.

Silence accompanies them.

“He’s… he’s asleep again…”

Thirty-six days pass again. Noctis does not wake up.

What little hope soaked in the air seems to die. Just like Noctis’ heart when he sees the throne empty once again.

Waiting is more painful in the light than in the dark. At least in the dark, they knew he was coming back.

* * *

Footsteps pound against the floor boards. Look to the left, find nothing. Laughter recedes at the same tone of the steps. A glimpse of blond hair has him scurrying behind, but his legs are not what they once were. They are slow and lethargic to yield to his commands, and he is falling behind.

Another laugh. “Hurry up!” He isn’t laughing. “Luna, wait!”

And the figure does. He turns the corner and catches up. No white dress flutters, no socks with strands of dog fur. It is not Luna.

They stare, form a connection with their eyes. He raises his hand, the other doing the same. Their fingers touch, and he feels taller, stronger, more like the years after Tenebrae and the ones before leaving Insomnia. The person in front of him reflects the same. His thoughts bleed into his throat. Only one word makes the purchase.

“Prompto.”

Prompto smiles, that smile that eases him through his darkest pains.

That smile that could hide the worst agony.

He reaches for a hug--but he’s gone, and he feels lost and alone. He sinks to the floor, nothing but a mere child again, wondering where all the happiness went.

It left with him.

“Why…” He mumbles softly to himself, before repeating in a louder volume. “Why?!”

Nothing responds to him.

His hands ball into fists. He sees the ring, but he can’t look at it for long. Power rides the wings of destruction. The ring makes him no king. It makes him a slave to agendas, all but his own.

But now it is time for him to make decisions for himself.

He rips the ring off and chunks it, doesn’t follow it as he stands and runs the other way. The ring would no longer control him, no longer tie him to the rollercoaster he is sick of being on.

“Prompto! Ignis! Gladio!” He searches for them, unsure if anything is real or not. What is real is he is cold, and his father never makes a sound again.

“Noct! This way buddy!”

He skids, has to catch himself on a pivoting hand as he bolts down a hall after the voice. In the distance, someone waits, blond hair waving and blue eyes smiling. He hears a crunch and nearly stops when he sees the blue flowers on the ground getting crushed beneath his boots.

The face turns away.

“Prompto! Wait for me!” He charges forward, probably murdering hundreds of flowers in his wake, but he gets close enough that he can read his jacket, that he can extend a hand and grab—

Nothing.

It is shock, suddenly seeing white walls instead of black, but his mind would not focus on it. His breath aches and chars his throat, his chest heaving to catch up. His hand is still extended, still empty.

In frustration, he grabs the nearest thing, loves the sound as it shatters against the wall.

But then the door flies open, the glass of a shattered screen reflecting the King’s alarm.

“Noct?” Prompto is breathing heavily too, probably sprinting the moment he heard movement.

Gladio and Ignis are behind him, and Noctis could _see_ them. The scars of Ignis’s face, the scruff of Gladiolus, the blue eyes drowning in worry of Prompto. But it is like staring at an empty throne, aching for his father to be there.

Is this real?

They wait, just as Noctis waits, for a sign, a movement. Noctis feels an impression of a hand on his shoulder, and he takes a breath.

It comes out in a sputter. “Guys..”

He couldn’t catch his breath again before Prompto is diving on him, his tears mixing with Noctis’s as he repeats his name again and again. Gladio leads Ignis into the embrace; and when the King grabs his advisor’s shoulder and his shield’s jacket, they didn’t disappear.

He understands what his father meant when he sent him away. This is still his home.

He gets to stay with his brothers a little longer--and for that, he cries. Though he could never fill the gap left by his father on the throne, he knows he could continue on with these guys at his side.

There would be pain, yes, there always would be; but it is minor to the happy memories Noctis could now create with his brothers without the burden of the ring.

Walk tall, my friends.

_You’ve walked tall, my son_.

**Author's Note:**

> Almost everything here has a metaphorical meaning. In case you’re curious, here’s my idea behind everything that’s not explained if it is confusing for you:
> 
> Why the title: like the first fanfic, these are tarot cards basically meaning change and making it through that change. 
> 
> Why did King Regis appear: His appearance symbolizes the afterlife, and how close Noctis was to truly dying before he was sent back to the world of the living. 
> 
> Why everything in Noctis’ dreamscape is black: Noctis has always been comfortable with the color black. But when the darkness came, it was a black he was not comfortable with and went to every measure to get rid of it. This is a reflection of the darkness.
> 
> Why Luna to Prompto: At the beginning of the video game, the trip to get to Luna became the main focus; but her death stumbled Noctis and slowed him down. I will always look at these two as brother and sister. If Noctis continued to see her image, he would only relate it to her death in the dreamscape and he would slowly give up, resulting to blaming himself for getting her killed instead of moving forward. However, by seeing Prompto, someone who is alive and waiting for him, he can be motivated to continue moving away from the past. 
> 
> Why the ring: This isn’t the real Ring of Lucii, but this a metaphorical accumulation of all the stress Noctis put on himself after he left Insomnia. Throwing away the ring is not throwing away his status as king; it’s throwing away the blame he put on himself for Insomnia’s collapse, Luna’s death, Ignis’s blindness, etc. 
> 
> Why the blue flowers on the floor: This another metaphorical stab in Luna’s direction. Her image has haunted Noctis’ since her death, and he has never been able to wade through the guilt. By running through the blue flowers, he’s destroying the image of Luna, the one he created in his guilt. Luna never meant to be his roadblock, but she inevitably was. Noctis had to make this trip eventually, when he lets go of the blame and moves on.
> 
> Thanks for reading.


End file.
